


who the f*** is din djarin?

by kimshli_writes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby Yoda Is Human, Background Character Death, Disaster Gay Luke Skywalker, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Grogu Is Human, Humor, I guess I’ll add more as i go, Kinda, Kindergarten Teacher Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker has PTSD, M/M, Pilot Luke Skywalker, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Single Parent Din Djarin, Teacher Luke Skywalker, Veteran Luke Skywalker, You know what?, disaster gay Din Djarin, i forgot how to tag rip, nonverbal grogu, okay idk about that tag, this isn’t about two kids in kindergarten having a romance rip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimshli_writes/pseuds/kimshli_writes
Summary: Luke Skywalker, a kindergarten teacher, has a problem. The principal of the school is threatening to keep Grogu Djarin, a talented nonverbal student, behind a year if he doesn’t “start talking.” To find a solution where Grogu will be able to move forward with the rest of his peers, Luke has to contact the child’s father, the elusive—and attractive—Din Djarin.Basically tumblr user ace-dindjarin writes a dinluke fic while not even shipping it that much in canon because the kindergarten teacher Luke dinluke AU is too powerful. Read on for lots of gay panic, Din accidentally becoming way too shady, and other such shenanigans.Hopefully the fic will update weekly! Fridays to commemorate the Mandalorian’s usual air date.UPDATE: I am still working on this fic! Sorry about the two week break, I’ll be back by hopefully the next week (when school ends...) with the last three chapters, which will be excitingly back to back uploads if everything goes well!
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 265
Kudos: 855





	1. The Problem

Luke Skywalker has a problem.

It’s ironic that Luke comes to this conclusion during such a peaceful time. His kindergarten class is having a Reading Buddies period with the grade threes. The room is filled with the stories of Frog and Toad, Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, and Disney fairytales. All of his students are doing very well, reading carefully and not afraid to ask any questions about a word they don’t know. Luke’s proud of that; he worked hard to cultivate a safe environment where his students aren’t afraid to ask anything for fear of peer judgement. Well, almost all of his students.

Grogu Djarin isn’t a problem student. Luke doesn’t like when teachers refer to kids who have a harder time interacting with the class material and students as “trouble”; it’s dismissive and says more about their teaching methods than the kid’s actual ability. Grogu’s got wide brown eyes and a curiosity for the world that exceeds his peers. His math and writing skills are impeccable; Grogu’s latest diary entry comes to mind. Luke could not believe that a kindergartener wrote the diary piece; while it had the classic toddler scrawl, it had a solid beginning, middle, and end. Grogu is exceptional and Luke’s proud of him.

Grogu’s “issue” is that he’s non-verbal. Luke doesn’t quite mind, given that he’s never scared to communicate his needs and gets along splendidly with the other students—especially Winta—but he’s getting pressure from the principal to get Grogu talking. Luke asked him what he suggested, knowing full well that the school had no special needs programs for non-verbal kids. The principal suggested ESL. The fucking dumbass.

While Luke is fine with Grogu moving forward with the other children, the principal thinks he should be held back until he’s able to speak. Luke thinks that’s horseshit, but saying that to the principal’s face would get him fired.

Luke doesn’t quite know what to do about this. On the one hand, it’s unfair for the kid to stay behind just because he’s non-verbal. That sounds ableist as fuck. On the other hand, there’s no way to convince the principal to let Grogu move forward with his peers.

Maybe Luke can talk to Grogu’s father about this.

Luke gets a migraine just _thinking_ about Din Djarin. He’s only seen the man once, on the first day of kindergarten. Luke remembers him very clearly; he was the kind of man that isn’t easily forgotten.

The first day of kindergarten, Din Djarin rolled up in a beat-up 2002 Honda Civic whose engine sputtered like a cat throwing up a hairball, and exited wearing the most pristine silver-grey Armani suit Luke has ever laid his eyes on. The man then proceeded to take his incredibly short kid out of the backseat and approach Luke.

“Are you the teacher?” Din asked.

“I—hmm?”

“The teacher. For the junior kindergarteners.”

“Uh, yeah. Yup, that’s me!”

_It’s so cloudy right now. Why doesn’t he take his aviators off?_

Din: “My kid—he’ll be fine, right?”

_They look really good on him. And the suit, the watch. Is that a honest-to-god moustache?_

“Ah, yeah. Don’t worry about him! I’m sure he’ll do well.”

“He. Uh. He’s not really good at talking to people.”

_It’s absolutely unfair for his voice to be so nice. He could narrate a podcast. He could read me a bedtime story. Ew, Luke._

“Oh, okay. I’ll make sure to accommodate that.”

“And, uh. He’s not really great with colours. Doesn’t really get the whole red-blue thing.”

“That’s alright, sir.” _Sir?!_ “Uh, we’ll make sure to accommodate for that. Your child looks like he’s got a real thirst for learning, so I’m a hundred percent sure he’ll do great in my class.”

“Okay. Yeah. Uh, thanks. _Pórtate bien_.”

The Spanish was presumably for his kid. Luke still said “yeah” in response, like an absolute fucking idiot.

Luke doesn’t think he made a good first impression.

Grogu laughs over a funny word in the NatGeo Kids Almanac he’s reading with his Reading Buddy. He catches Luke’s eyes and waves. Luke smiles in response and goes back to solving his issue.

Maybe Luke could tell Din about the situation when he picks up Grogu after school. The thing is, Luke’s never met Din since their first meeting. For some reason, the man’s always busy during dismissal hours and always has his friends pick up Grogu for him. And Din Djarin’s friends are...eccentric, to say the least.

The first friend Din Djarin sent to pick up Grogu is Cara Dune, ex-commander of the Alderaan tactical unit. Leia, Luke’s sister, had served with Dune on the same tactical unit until the team was wiped out in a battle. After she finished her service, Cara had opened a security firm and did quite well on a state-wide boxing competition. Luke was happy to see her again after such a long time—but was left wondering: how in the _world_ did Din Djarin befriend her?

The second and third of Din’s friends are two car mechanics. The first, Kuiil, is an kind old Mexican man who speaks to Grogu with the same respect he would hold for other adults. The second, Peli Motto, is much less gentle. She speaks faster than a bee buzzes its wings and has the coarse vocabulary to boot. Her demeanour changes drastically around Grogu, however; she makes sure to give him plenty of hugs and seems to slip him a piece of candy whenever it’s her turn to pick up the kid. Luke wonders how a man who was such good friends with _two_ car mechanics had such a beat-up car.

Din’s fourth friend is Greef Karga, the—and Luke cannot believe this— _attorney general of California_. Luke stared at Greef for surely an impolite amount of time as the _head of the state department of justice_ picked up Grogu and spoiled the kid with compliments. The image of seeing an influential government figure walk side by side with Din Djarin’s kid, holding Grogu’s tiny little hand and walking slowly to match the kid’s pace has not left Luke’s mind. It was this encounter that really cemented the question in Luke’s head: what did Din Djarin _do_?

Friends Five and Six were more normal for a working parent of a toddler. Omera, Winta’s mother, often came by to pick up Grogu along with her own daughter. Márta, a lovely and kind Chilean mother who always wore a neat pink scarf around her neck no matter the weather—which reminds Luke of Din’s sunglasses—also picked up Grogu along with her own child. Having a classmate’s parents pick up your kid for you was normal for a parent.

Seven and Eight were the polar opposite of “normal friends”. To say that Luke’s jaw dropped when Boba Fett and Bo-Katan Kryze walked in to pick up the kid was an understatement. Luke first encountered Boba Fett on an extraction mission for Han Solo with his sister, back when Luke was still in the Air Force. Fett, a mercenary for hire, had kidnapped Han for his employer to use as leverage. Luke almost called a school-wide lockdown until Winta smiled and yelled “Uncle Boba!” when she saw him. Luke later pulled Bo-Katan, suspected gang leader of the Nite Owls, to the side and asserted that he will _call the fucking cops_ if they show up here again.

Luke sighs and pulls out his yellow note-pad. He heard that Roald Dahl would only write on yellow pads and picked up the habit himself. On the top of the paper, Luke writes “Din Djarin”. He then lists: veterans, mechanics, the attorney general, other parents, criminals. Luke tries to make some connections between the bullet points and ends up only linking “attorney general” and “criminals” under “law”.

Luke sighs. He counts six lines from the bottom and draws a line; titling the section “Questions”. Luke taps his pen against his lip for a few moments, then gets to work.

      1. Why can’t Din Djarin pick up his kid at school dismissal times?
      2. Why does Din Djarin have such a... _diverse_ friend group?
      3. How can I reach out to Din Djarin re: the principal being an ableist piece of shit?



Luke sits back, observing his diagram. When the bell rings, signalling the start of recess, Luke’s got no answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all i am so excited for this fic. It’s been far too long since i wrote fic/wrote prose for fun. Thanks to eleneidapot and adroguegirl on tumblr for helping me with the Spanish!
> 
> EDIT: Just some clarifications:  
> \- Márta is Frog Lady. There’s no way I can name a real world character “Frog Lady” without it being literally the most offensive thing ever (imagine. Someone called you “frog lady”. Even she would punch them, even though she’s sweetness personified.)  
> \- Pórtate bien means “mind your manners”


	2. The Pragmatist

“Alright, one more stall turn and we can call it a day.” Han’s voice is distorted through the comms, but it’s got that almost sleazy drawl to it that no amount of interference can hide.

Luke smiles. “Gotcha.”

They pull their biplanes up, rocketing up into the sky. Luke can’t hide the glee he gets from the rush of pushing the plane up at full throttle, then realizes there’s no reason to hide his glee and laughs out loud. Han starts chuckling, too, and the two of them push their planes up while laughing like maniacs. _Thank god no one can hear our comms. People would think we’re crazy._

“Okay,” Han calls out, brushing past his last few giggles, “reaching the altitude in three...two...one!”

Luke cuts the engine right as Han cuts his own, and the two planes enter free fall. Han whoops and laughs, which prompts Luke to let out his own victory call.

It’s times like this when Luke misses flying. He’s obsessed with the rush of knowing he can bend the rules of gravity and fly through the air; he’s amazed with the thrill in completing complex manoeuvres. Luke loves the feeling of freedom, of knowing that he can go wherever he wants.

Luke and Han manage to turn on their engines in time to stop falling into the river, and exit their dive with a smooth glide over the water. The crowd on the harbourfront clap, laughing at the slight spray of mist Luke and Han’s exit made.

“Good show, kid,” Han says.

“Yeah.” Luke looks out over the harbour, at the ripples in the water. A family of ducks floating along the shore are swayed by the wave. “Good show.”

§

Luke squints into the sky peeking through the hangar bay. It’s a very sweet pink, caused by the rays of the setting sun rippling through the sheep-wool clouds dotting the blue sky.

“Thanks for helping out today.” Luke turns to see Han, nursing a cup of coffee. His hands are stained with oil, but when aren’t they?

Luke shakes his head. “It was my pleasure.”

Han joins Luke in leaning on the side of the biplane, watching the sunset.

“You know, Luke,” Han starts, tentative, “if you ever would like to, we can open up a permanent spot on the show team for you.”

Luke looks at his hands, still wearing his flight gloves. He misses flying, of course. That’s why he volunteers for Han’s flybys on the harbourfront—Luke loves the feeling of soaring over the city, then banking to the side to pull off a fun manoeuvre. But flying reminds him too much of his service in the Air Force. Those were not good times for Luke. Besides, he loves teaching his students.

“Thanks, Han, but I can’t leave my kids behind.”

Han nods, smartly not pushing the subject further. “You coming to dinner with Leia next Friday?” Han asks.

Luke takes Han’s coffee and drinks, wincing at the coldness. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“So.” Han’s eyes have a twinkle that Luke knows he won’t like. “Who’s the man you’re obsessing over in that head of yours?”

Luke spits his coffee. “I’m not—what?”

Han laughs. “Come on! You’ve been distracted all day. I know a gay freak-out when I see one.”

“I...don’t think you’re qualified to identify one. You married my _sister_ , Han.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not queer.”

“Fair point.”

Han nudges Luke, wearing that shit-eating grin on his face. “So? Who’s the guy you’re into?”

“I’m not—” Luke sighs. “He’s a parent of one of my students.”

Han whistles. “I’ve heard this story before.”

Luke ignores him. “His kid’s non-verbal. The principal wants to keep him behind a year, but the kid’s too smart for that. I want to talk to his father about the issue, but...”

“But what?”

“He’s...eccentric. I’ve only seen him once, on the first day of school, and he always has his friends to pick up the kid. They’re also eccentric.” Luke reaches for his notepad, which is inside his bag in the cockpit. He shows the paper to Han, who breaks out laughing.

“ _What_?”

“You made a _diagram_? Luke, wake up. You’re into this guy.”

“Holy fuck, Han, just read the sheet.”

Han takes the pad from Luke, wearing his signature shit-eating grin again. He reads over the list, eyes scanning the list.

“Yeah, that’s interesting.” Han sounds preoccupied. “You know what else is interesting?”

Luke blinks. Did Han make a connection that could help Luke solve his problem? “What?”

Han looks at Luke, eyes twinkling with sincerity. He raises the notepad slowly, then plops it back into Luke’s hands.

“For fuck’s sake, Han. Stop being so dramatic.” Luke knows he’s being a bit of a hypocrite; Han and Leia have teased him mercilessly about his fancy taste in boots.

“What’s missing on this list,” Han says, making sure to enunciate the words slowly for no other reason than to be an ass, “is the parent contact list.”

Holy _fuck_. Han’s right.

In the beginning of the school year, Luke always collects parent contact information from his students, in case of an emergency that Luke needs to talk to a parent about. Grogu’s future in the school is definitely enough of an emergency to warrant a use of the contact list.

Han pats Luke’s shoulder. “Poor Luke. The power of gay love blinded him to the obvious truth.”

Luke punches Han in the arm, who screams far too dramatically. That annoys Luke, so he punches Han again.

“ _Rude_ ,” Han chastises.

“I’ll spill your coffee on you next unless you shut up.”

“If that’s what it takes for you to see the truth—”

“ _I’m not into him._ ”

Han pats Luke on the back. “Sure you aren’t, buddy.”

§

Luke’s apartment is pretty nice for a veteran of the Air Force or a public school teacher. It’s got wide windows to take in the Californian skyline, a wide living area plus two bedrooms, and a human-sized bathtub in the washroom. He spent years saving up money, working odd retail jobs and flying for Han’s show squadron every chance he got. With a little help from Leia and the contents from his dad’s will, Luke managed to get himself a solid apartment to spend the rest of his single life in.

Luke leans against his kitchen counter, pouring himself a bit of store-bought margarita in a glass. It’s far too sweet for his taste, but he doesn’t have the energy to make himself a cocktail whenever he wants to get drunk. He’s not one for hard liquors or beer; he likes wine well enough, though.

He pulls up his laptop on the counter, logging into the school server and opening the parent contact sheet. Grogu Djarin’s name is as clear as day, the fourth name out of twenty. Next to it is Din Djarin’s name, along with his email and phone number.

Luke sighs. He takes a long drink from his glass. As ridiculous as Han’s words were, they’re still floating around his head. Luke _couldn’t_ be into a guy he saw _once_ in his life...could he?

Luke enters the phone number into his phone and presses “call”.

The line rings. _Fuck shit fuck shit fuck_. Luke shouldn’t be this anxious. He’s a teacher, calling a parent about a concern about their child. That’s normal, right? Nothing wrong with that. Luke’s definitely not into this man. Nope, that’s insane.

_Sure you aren’t, buddy._

“Fuck you, Han!” Luke yells, then claps his hand on his mouth. Thankfully, the line is still ringing. It would have been catastrophic if Din had heard that over the line...

Luke’s still stressing about his close call to absolute disaster when the line clicks. He quickly clears his throat, preparing himself for a proper conversation. The world’s a bit blurry. Is he somehow...drunk?

“Hi, Mr. Djarin, my name is—”

“Your call cannot be received right now. Please leave a message after the tone.” It’s a crisp, robotic female voice.

Luke exhales. He’s definitely not ready for a regular conversation with a regular person right now. Except that this person isn’t regular, because according to Han, the absolute _ass_ , Luke’s somehow into a man he’s only seen once in his life. And Luke’s drunk, somehow, after a sip of margarita.

The beep pulls Luke out of his spiral and immediately plunges him back into a new one called “oh my god I have to leave a voicemail”. His mind circles through a couple opening lines and structures and manages to settle on one before the pause between the tone and his first words gets too awkward.

“Hi, Mr. Djarin. I’m Luke Skywalker, your child’s teacher. I wanted to call you about a slight issue with Grogu’s education at this school.”

_Shit, now he’s going to think Grogu’s causing issues at school._

“Don’t worry, he’s not in any trouble whatsoever. It’s more of an administration issue, really. Nothing to do with Grogu’s performance whatsoever. He’s really a model student.”

_You’re a teacher, Luke. Stop rambling._

“I was wondering if we could meet in person, maybe tomorrow after school, to discuss the issue? Please let me know if that time works for you. Yup. Thank you. Bye.”

_What?_

Luke hangs up and buries his head in his hands. He lets out a guttural groan, finds it somewhat therapeutic, and keeps going. He looks up at his glass of margarita once he’s groaned his vocal cords out, noticing that the glass is empty; no wonder he’s tipsy.

He closes his laptop and puts the glass in his sink, rinsing it under the cool tap water. The water on his hands helps him calm the storm in his mind.

Tomorrow, he’ll be one step closer to solving his problem. Tomorrow, he’ll meet Din Djarin for the second time.

_Fuck. Maybe Han’s right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! May it be less shitty than 2020...
> 
> I loved writing this chapter haha! So much fun writing Han as the titular smartass pragmatist and Luke struggling with the truth haha. Poor Luke, I tortured him a bit too much here. I also liked writing a bit of Luke’s backstory; I’m usually an angst writer so it kinda slipped in with the bit about the ducks. 
> 
> Han’s pansexual in this fic, by the way. Not too important, but thought it might be of note.


	3. The Wait

3:40. Five more minutes and Luke Skywalker will officially lose his mind.

He’d gotten a call back from Din that morning. Specifically, Din had left him a voicemail overnight:

“Hi, Mr. Skywalker.”

_Shit. His voice is still so nice. Oh my god Skywalker, get your shit together. Wait, did he say Mr. Sky—_

“Thanks for the message. I’ll come today after school to discuss the issue. Uh. Bye.”

The end. _A bit abrupt; he could use a few lessons from Grogu on structuring a conclusion_.

To say that Luke was looking forward to meeting the mysterious Din Djarin again was an understatement. He hadn’t slept well that night thanks to a series of dreams that extrapolated how the meeting with Din would go, starting over à la Groundhog Day when Luke woke up sweating in the night. (Luke’s forgotten most of it, but the version where Din walked in wearing a cowboy hat stood out like a fucking neon sign. What was his brain thinking?) Luke had also thrown his phone in the air when he saw the notification in the morning. (It was now sporting a rather unfortunate crack across the screen protector. Luke just replaced that a week ago. Shit timing.) And now, Luke was drumming his fingers on his desk and checking the clock every ten seconds like a maniac.

_He should have been here ten minutes ago._

“Bye, Mr. Skywalker!” Winta yells, walking out the classroom with her mother, Omera. Luke waves back, shaken out of his anxious spiral. He smiles as Winta begins running down the hall, dragging her mother by the hand. Winta always seemed to have far too much energy for such a small girl.

Luke looks back towards the rest of his students. Most of them were already picked up by their parents already, leaving only three students waiting to leave: Jorge—Márta’s child, Isaac, and Grogu. Isaac, who liked to talk like he was the toughest son of a bitch in town then proceeded to treat all of his friends graciously, had given his macaroons to Grogu—despite Isaac initially telling Grogu no—and the three of them were sharing the cookies and laughing. Luke smiles when Isaac begins acting out the dramatic climax of a kids television show he saw in the morning, to the delight of his classmates.

3:42. Márta walks in to the classroom, here to pick up Jorge. The kid waves sweetly at Luke as he leaves. Jorge’s quiet, somewhat like Grogu. But where Grogu is never afraid to express his desires and displeasures in squeaked focalization or small tantrums, Jorge’s much more reserved in his outward expressions. Despite their differences in personality, the two children get along swimmingly. Luke often finds Jorge making jokes and telling stories in Spanish to Grogu during lunch.

At 3:45, someone rushes into the class. To Luke’s disappointment, it’s Isaac’s father, who’s apologizing for being so late. Luke tells him not to worry as the two exit, Isaac’s dad brushing off the crumbs on Isaac’s shirt. Luke’s okay with staying late after dismissal, as he usually finishes up some work for an hour after the bell.

He is getting very worried about Grogu. Fifteen minutes late to pickup is definitely tardy, despite Luke’s assurances to Isaac’s father. He hopes Din shows up soon.

Grogu looks at Luke, then at the door.

“Your dad’s going to come pick you up, Grogu,” Luke tells him. “He’ll be here soon, don’t worry.” Luke’s not sure that was very convincing, but Grogu seems to relax a little. The kid takes out his favourite silver marble from his pocket. Luke’s not sure where he got it, but Grogu always has it with him. Luke once had to stop the kid from putting it in his mouth—it would have been hazardous if he accidentally managed to swallow it.

3:50. Luke’s working on his lesson plan when someone knocks on the door. Luke, surprised, drops his pen and stands up. _Holy crap, he’s finally here.Is my hair okay? Winta pulled on it today and I haven’t seen myself in the mirror since lunch—_

It’s not Din Djarin. It’s Hera Syndulla, a Grade 3 teacher. She served in the Air Force too, but far before Luke got involved. Following her retirement, she settled down with Kanan Jarrus, a grade seven History teacher at the school who’s very popular with children thanks to his dry sense of humour and nuanced takes on past events. Their kid, Jacen, is set to join Luke’s class as a junior kindergartener next year.

“Hey, Luke,” she says, “Kanan baked some cookies. Come have some in the teacher’s lounge.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Luke responds. “I have a meeting soon.”

Hera nods at Grogu. “Why’s the kid still here?”

“His dad’s a bit late.”

She nods, then leaves with a hearty tap on the door.

Luke returns to his lesson plan, trying to quash his worries. It fails miserably; Skywalkers aren’t very good at the whole “bottle up your emotions” thing. Maybe Din forgot? He did leave the message quite early in the morning. Luke was once up until 2 am listening to Leia’s rants about Han—back when their marriage was a concept from another timeline because they hated each other’s guts too much—and he ended up not remembering a single thing, resulting in quite the scolding by Leia.

But Grogu’s Din’s kid; Din couldn’t forget to pick up his _own kid_. Right?

Luke looks at Grogu, who looks back at him with those big brown eyes of his.

“I’m sure your dad will be here soon.” Luke puts on a smile for Grogu’s benefit. The kid seems to see through it, though. He looks down at his marble dejectedly.

Luke sighs. Maybe he should call Din? Luke does have his number, after all. That might remind him if he really forgot. He scrolls through his call history and finds Din.

Suddenly, Grogu squeaks and runs to the door.

“Grogu, wait!” Luke rushes to follow the kid, who runs out the door and runs to an approaching figure in the hallway. Grogu jumps up into the man’s arms, laughing contentedly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Din fucking Djarin, the man who caused Luke so much fucking anxiety in the last thirty minutes, calls out in that gravelly voice of his, walking towards Luke while holding his kid in his arms. He’s not wearing that Armani suit this time, opting this time for the rattiest tweed jacket Luke has ever seen. The sunglasses are on, though. As a man with an impressive collection of high-end boots himself, Luke respects Din’s dedication to his one accessory. He also respects Din’s arm strength, holy fuck. _Grogu must be really heavy. How is he holding him so steadily? Can he hold me? What?!_

Luke clears his throat—and his brain. “No worries. I think you worried Grogu more than you worried me.”

Grogu pouts at his dad. Din chuckles, and Luke swears the clouds cleared and the angels sang. _Skywalker, get your fucking shit together. Clouds cleared and angels sang? I’m not a fucking Bible._

“Let’s talk in the classroom,” Luke proposes. “It has to be tiring, hold-holding Grogu.” _That had better not been a voice crack, Skywalker._

“Not really,” Din replies. He’s got a peculiar way of speaking—always straight, with minimal change in tone from word to word. Luke’s old superior, Admiral Mothma, shared that trait. “He’s far too small for his age.”

Grogu blows a raspberry. Luke chuckles.

“You better not be behaving that way in Mr. Skywalker’s class,” Din scolds, tone light. They start making their way to the classroom.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Djarin,” Luke assures. “Grogu is a model student.”

“No need for the formalities. Call me Din.”

 _Shitshitshitshit_. Luke’s uncomfortably happy with the authoritative delivery of the statement. He blurts out, “Only if you call me Luke.” _Nope, that sounds far too flirty._

Din extends his hand, not noticing Luke’s slip-up. “Okay. Luke.”

Luke shakes Din’s hand, barely managing to be a normal, functioning human during the process. He gestures to the classroom door, welcoming Din into his class. _Dramatic ass_ , Leia says in his head. Luke mentally insults her back and walks over to his desk.

Din sets down Grogu by the table next to the window, then messes up Grogu’s hair. Grogu laughs. Luke watches them, thinking how in the world he ever thought Din would forget his own kid, when they clearly love each other so much. There’s a strange, reverent way to how Din treats Grogu; he’s not afraid to hold and caress his son, but he makes sure to be gentle in all his interactions.

Din makes his way to Luke’s table. He pulls out a chair from the side and sits down, facing Luke. Luke doesn’t know if he likes or is uncomfortable with Din making such constant eye contact. It’s the aviators; they make Din look like he doesn’t blink. He also moves like he’s wearing a motorbike helmet—instead of moving his eyes, he moves his entire head. Weirdly snakelike. _Okay, Skywalker. You’re here to discuss an issue with a parent you are mildly yet powerfully attracted to, not psychoanalyze the aforementioned parent._

“So. What’s the issue?”

Luke nods, reminded that he is an actual human being who needs to hold a serious conversation right now. “Grogu’s an exceptional student. He’s great at reading and writing, and he gets along very well with his friends. The, uh, ‘issue’, is that the school administration won’t let Grogu advance to the next grade with his classmates unless he communicates verbally.”

Din sighs, pinching his nose with his hands.

Luke laughs. “Honestly, I feel the same. Grogu’s better than communicating his wants and needs than some of his speaking classmates! It’s _insane_ that he’s being kept behind.”

Din nods. He’s rubbing his face with his hands now, clearly stressed. Luke’s a bit sorry now for dropping the bomb on him; it might just be the ratty jacket, but Din gives the vibe of someone who perpetually needs a nap. “Are there any alternatives, solutions, anything?”

“Unfortunately, the school doesn’t have any assistance programs for special needs children. The principal thinks that _ESL_ is a good idea, which—” Luke laughs, “is an _inane_ suggestion if you ask me.”

“Very racist.”

“Oh, for _sure_.”

Din cracks his knuckles—a tic that Luke embarrassingly tried to develop back in high school because he thought it was “cool”. “Have you talked to Grogu about it?”

“I figured it’s best for you two to hold that conversation,” Luke replies. “If it’s coming from me, he might feel pressured to talk; I don’t think pressure does much for creating a safe, effective learning environment. If students are too afraid to ask questions, what benefit would there be to having an actual, human teacher there, instead of a video or something?” _Stop ranting, Luke; holy fuck._

Din stares at him for a solid ten seconds after that. _Is he weirded out? What is he thinking? Why is he just—_ staring _at me?_

Luke blinks, then runs his hand through his hair, laughing in an effort to hide his embarrassment. “Sorry. I’m really passionate about teaching.”

“No, that’s uh—” Din clears his throat. “It’s cool. It’s great.” He clears his throat again.

“Do you need some water?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Another cough. “That was my last one.”

Luke nods, putting on a smile. Din meets his eyes for a moment, then looks away.

“I made it weird, didn’t I?” Luke laughs, awkwardly high pitched.

“No, it’s on me,” Din replies. “I don’t see a lot of people passionate about their job in my line of work, so. It was nice to see.” _What does he do for a living? I’ve met my fair share of janitors who love their job. What’s less motivating than being paid to clean up public school toilets?_

Luke smiles. “Thank you.”

Din stares at Luke again, but thankfully for a less uncomfortable amount of time. He checks his watch and sighs.

“I should get going. I’ll have that conversation with Grogu tonight.” He stands up, and Luke follows suit.

“No rush; it’s still December.”

Din walks over to Grogu, who’s devouring a Warriors book from his bag. Luke’s impressed—that’s a grade five book! And then Luke’s pissed again at the principal for thinking that Grogu’s not smart enough to move on with the other kids.

Luke watches from the door of the classroom as Din helps Grogu pack his book in his bag and picks him up. Luke wonders why Din doesn’t just let the kid walk around, then forgets that thought when Din walks up to him.

“Thank you for the conversation.” Din adjusts Grogu so he can sit more comfortably. “And sorry for being late today.”

Luke’s going to regret this. “If you’re busy around dismissal, I can watch Grogu for about an hour after the bell. I usually work until then, anyways.”

Din stares at Luke again. It’s not intense this time, just pondering. “Is that...alright? I don’t want to be a burden.”

Luke smiles. “No problem whatsoever.”

Din looks at Grogu. “What do you think, buddy?” Grogu smiles and pulls at Din’s ear affectionately. Luke laughs at Din’s grimace.

“Thank you, Luke.” It’s still a bit jarring when Din says his name.

“No problem.”

Luke watches the two walk down the hallway, then walks back in the classroom to pick up his bag and jacket. It’s 4:20; Luke should also go home.

The sun’s almost over the horizon when Luke exits the building and heads to the parking lot. He basically just ensured that he’ll see Din Djarin every school day. Luke feels like a schoolgirl who’s schemes to win over her crush have just succeeded. Then he thinks about the disastrous conversation he had today with Din and realizes he has just set up a personal hell for himself.

Luke gets in the drivers seat of his sedan and drops his head on the steering wheel. He curses himself at the inadvertent _beep_ he causes, then curses himself again for being a gay ass mess. 

As he presses the brake and turns on the engine, Luke steels himself with the knowledge that step one of Luke’s plan to help Grogu is complete. Now he can focus on finding the next step of the plan—as well as a second problem: what to do with his feelings for Din Djarin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy that’s a long one! This was the hardest chapter to write as of yet—so much of Luke’s crush on Din was really hard to write as a person who is an expert in bottling up her emotions regarding literally everything. I definitely enjoyed writing in hints of Din’s gay panic; this story is more of a film/tv show in my head rather than a prose-style book so getting a moment where I can literally describe the scene was a moment of breath for me. Also Din Djarin is my comfort character, not my fictional crush, so it was nice to step away from the other lens for a moment and write him getting to have his own gay panic!
> 
> Thank all of you for your comments, I love them all so much! I’m honestly floored by how much love you guys have for this fic <3
> 
> Clarifications:  
> \- Isaac is the Macaron Kid from season two!   
> \- Jorge is Frog Lady’s kid.


	4. The Irrationality

“How’s the hand?” Leia asks, voice slightly distorted by the FaceTime call.

Luke flexes his prosthetic. It’s not anywhere near the best prosthetic in the market, which has more natural movements and better touch-sensitivity, but it does the job. Luke can hold things, write—but with horrific handwriting, as his students like to lightheartedly joke about—and go about life with the impression of someone who didn’t lose his hand in a fiery explosion.

“It’s good,” Luke replies. “You know that I like to dote on my silver.”

Leia rolls her eyes. “The only silver piece you own is my Pandora necklace you stole from me last Christmas—which, by the way, I am expecting you to return on Friday.”

Luke smiles cryptically. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

Leia gives him the bird. Luke pouts right back.

Luke’s sitting upright on his bed with his tablet propped up on his lap. It’s 8:30 pm; they’ve been calling for roughly forty minutes now. Leia’s slouched on her sofa in the apartment she shares with Han; her hair’s in her classic double-bun. Her adoptive mother thought it was fashionable; and while it was _definitely_ not, Leia had a fondness for it. Luke loves making fun of it; he’d Photoshopped a picture of Leia with a cinnamon bun on either side of her face and now uses it to begin all his text conversations with his sister. Leia always responds with a photo of her raising her middle finger.

“How’s your job?” Luke inquires.

There’s a lump in Luke’s throat as he asks. He hasn’t felt that in a while. _It’s probably fine._

“Oh, the usual.” Leia sighs. She launches into a rant about her ongoing feud with her childhood best friend Admiral Holdo regarding the allocation of funds: of course, Leia wants the bonus money to go to the Air Force, and Holdo would rather it go to the navy.

Luke can’t pay attention to what Leia’s saying. The lump’s grown bigger, lodging firmly in his throat, and his hand is starting to get uncomfortably sweaty. He’s not sure why; he was fine talking about the Air Force with Han a few days ago. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

“Luke!” Leia snaps her fingers on the screen.

“Huh?” Luke blinks. “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“Clearly.” Her flat tone mellows out into concern. “Are you okay?”

Luke’s not sure. He smiles anyways and replies, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Leia nods hesitantly. She probably doesn’t believe him. Luke needs a change in topic. “Where’s Han?”

“Doing the dishes. Mondays are Han’s.”

Leia leans in, her eyes twinkling with mischief—Luke knows he’s not going to like this. “Speaking of Han, he tells me you have a crush.”

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Luke waves brightly and plasters on the fakest smile he can muster.

Leia exhales, pouting. “You’re no fun.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “Bye, Leia,” he says, letting genuine fondness seep through.

She smiles, tone soft. “Bye to you too.”

He disconnects from the call and tilts his head back, stopping when the top of his head bumps against the wall. His hands are shaking, and that fucking lump won’t go away. Kicking off the sheets, Luke storms to the kitchen and gulps down a glass of water. The cold of the liquid strangely burns his throat, but it’s effective in pushing the lump away. He slams the glass onto the countertop and leans over the sink, breathing heavily.

Luke hasn’t been this affected talking about the Air Force in six years. He has no idea why his panic attacks are back, albeit mild. Maybe it was the flying, helping Han with his shows? But Luke’s done that for six months, now. It could be the stress from Grogu’s administrative issues, but that’s got shit to do with the Air Force. Maybe it’s Din Djarin; Luke hasn’t been interested in a person this much since his retirement from the Force. He’s had some casual flings, a few more serious, but they all fizzled out in the end. But what does a fucking crush have to do with his trauma?

Luke can’t deal with this right now. He downs another glass and walks back to his bedroom. He tries to go to sleep, ignoring the ringing in his ears.

§

Luke’s Wednesday classes are show-and-tell day. It’s a great way to get students comfortable with sharing their interests with each other, which builds up strong interpersonal connections between the students. It’s his number one strategy to build a safe environment in his classes, on top of encouraging critical thinking and questions in lessons.

Show-and-tell days are also great for Luke; he gets some extra planning time for his lessons, if he’s pragmatic. Today, he’s procrastinating thanks to his mood being soured by his lack of sleep the other night. He’s not usually good at sleeping; he wakes easily at the smallest disturbance, whether that be a two Fahrenheit drop in temperature or the dishwasher stopping it’s nightly drone. Last night was especially brutal, though. Dreams of fire, explosions, jet engines _rattattat_ ing. His father, sitting in the dark, staring at a candle flame, illuminating his blue eyes into a fiery orange—

Luke shakes himself. Getting into a panic at school won’t do him any favours. He does a couple deep breaths, like the one he practiced with his old therapist, Dr. Yoda; sadly, he passed away a couple years ago. Fuck, Luke misses him. He was wonderfully eccentric and always knew the right thing to say.

_Riing!_

Luke jolts at the bell, realizing that he has a job. He stands up, putting on his Teacher Smile. “Alright everyone, wait for your parents to pick you up before leaving!”

The class breaks into commotion, rushing for their winter jackets. Luke follows the kids to the coat racks, helping them zip up their coats and tie their shoelaces. He watches as his students walk out the class and meet their parents in the hallway, talking about the cool turtle statue Sam Lee brought and the funny joke Logan Woods told. Seeing this familiar chaos calms Luke down a little. Not too much, but enough.

Ten minutes later, it’s just Luke and Grogu in the classroom. Grogu stares at Luke expectantly with his big brown eyes. Luke’s good mood drops, slightly. As much as he loves his students, entertaining children is a difficult task that currently, Luke feels way too zapped of energy to perform.

“We’ve got an hour.” Luke walks over to the carpet where Grogu is seated and plops down cross-legged right in front of him. “Is there anything you want to do?”

Grogu takes out his notepad and his favourite blue crayon from his bag. He taps the crayon, brows furrowed. Suddenly, his eyes light up and he neatly writes out: “I can teach you Spanish.”

Luke’s intrigued. He loves learning, especially languages; his YouTube feed is currently full of linguistics experts thanks to single one-night spree of watching every video by the WIRED linguist. “That sounds great! I’m totally new to this, though; you’ll have to go extra slow for me.”

Grogu laughs, and Luke cracks his first smile of the day.

§

“ _Nosotros_...” Luke runs his hand through his hair. “ _Nosotros_ _somos_?”

Grogu nods excitedly. Luke exhales. He realizes he’s clenching his hands and unfurls them. His flesh-and-blood hand’s sweaty from the tension. Guess there are perks to having a prosthetic hand.

Grogu taps his crayon on the “You (plural)” on his sheet. Luke closes his eyes, trying to remember the word he learned two fucking minutes ago.

“ _Yous_...” Luke shakes his head. “Nope, that’s still English.” Grogu giggles at Luke’s halfhearted joke.

“ _Ust_... _ustedes_!” Luke turns to Grogu, who smiles back encouragingly.

“Okay. _ustedes_...uh...” Luke taps his finger against his knee, scrunching his brows in effort. “ _Son_ , _ustedes_ _son_.”

Grogu claps excitedly. Luke bows as extravagantly as his current sitting position will allow it, which spurs Grogu to break out into another set of giggles. _At least someone likes my theatrics._ Luke decides to give his act a bit of flair by pretending to gracefully put a magician’s top hat on his head as he exits his bow, looking up to see Din Djarin leaning against the classroom’s doorframe.

Luke scrambles to his feet. _Shit, did he see me? He’s going to think I’m weird. Which is a bit hypocritical, since he never takes off those sunglasses as if he’s a Hollywood star who’s exiting the airport. Who am I to judge; he looks great in them—_

“Hey!” Luke dries his sweaty hand against his pants as inconspicuously as possible. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you were here.”

“No worries,” Din says. He’s got the same ratty tweed jacket from yesterday on, but somehow looks significantly less tired. Maybe he got a haircut? Luke can’t tell. Din gestures toward Grogu, who runs towards his dad and jumps into his arms. Din grunts at the sudden weight, but lets Grogu adjust until he finds a comfortable position in Din’s embrace.

Din looks up at Luke. He furrows his brows. _Fuck. Am I blushing?_

“Are you okay?” Din asks, instead. “You’re really pale.”

 _You’re so pale,_ Anakin had said to Luke. His father had clutched his face with trembling, calloused hands, looking at Luke with his characteristic blue eyes. _All those days in the sun, yet you’re still so pale._

 _I’m seeing a ghost,_ Luke had replied, eyes brimming with tears. _It’s bound to happen._

The squeak of Luke’s leather glove—the one covering his prosthetic—shakes him out of his mind. Luke almost wishes he stayed in his mind; everything’s too bright, too slow. Luke can see the flickers of the fluorescent lights, hear the whir of the fan, the thump of his heart.

Din’s still looking at Luke, expectant.

“I’m just tired.” Luke tries his best to put on his best smile. His ears are ringing.

Din frowns in worry. “Hope Grogu wasn’t too much trouble.”

“No, he was wonderful.” Luke runs his hand through his hair, hoping the familiar action will make the sounds shut up. “He taught me some Spanish.”

“ _¿De verdad?_ ” Din asks.

Luke chuckles. “I didn’t quite get that far.”

Din looks to Grogu, as if he’s asking the kid to confirm what Luke said. Grogu nods, serene. Din cracks a smile at Grogu’s response. A little one, but it’s there, and it’s beautiful. It’s amazing how such a small change can make Din lose all of his apparent stress, replacing it with a pure, almost childlike joy.

_Stop being a gay disaster, Luke. You already have another disaster to deal with. Two, actually._

“Did you talk to him about...” Luke trails off. “You know.” He gestures vaguely.

Din sighs, and all his stress seems to come crashing down on him. Luke winces. _Did he just...grow a wrinkle?_ “I tried, but it’s difficult. I don’t want him to feel pressured to do anything, but...”

“...you want him to know this,” Luke finishes. Din nods.

“I did tell Grogu’s therapist,” he adds. “She said she’ll bring it up with him on his next session with her.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Luke brightens up, glad that step two of Help Grogu is looking good on Din’s side. “I didn’t know Grogu had a therapist.”

“She helped him a lot during the adoption process.” Din’s voice is quiet. Grogu tugs at Din’s arm, asking to be put down. Din complies, letting him run off to the carpet and pack his bag.

Adopted. _Huh._ “I didn’t know Grogu was adopted,” Luke comments. _Din and Grogu have the same curly brown hair._

“He lost his biological parents in a firefight,” Din explains.

Luke blinks. _Firefight? Like...guns?_

“He thinks it’s his fault.” Din sighs— _is that the second time today?_

“What—why would he think that’s his fault?” Luke almost claps his hand over his mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Din shakes his head. “It’s fine. His parents asked him to be quiet so the gunmen wouldn’t hear them, but...put a kid in an unfamiliar environment, said kid get scared. It’s natural.”

Din’s quiet for a moment. He sighs again, adjusting his posture. “Ahsoka—his therapist—helped him regain his confidence.”

“That’s, uh...that’s good to hear.”

Luke feels another lump in his throat, just like yesterday. It’s different this time; it’s sorrowful empathy, for this kid who had to go through what Luke did, but at an even younger age. Luke’s suddenly seized by a need to run to Grogu and hug him, tell him that Luke _understands_ and Grogu doesn’t ever need to talk unless he wants to because _fuck everyone else, especially that bastard principal, okay? I understand you._

The words are out of his mouth before Luke can reconsider.

“I lost my father eight years ago to an explosion.” Luke tries to stop himself from talking about his personal trauma with a man who’s practically a stranger, but the stop is pulled from the drain for good. “I didn’t grow up with him, and I’d only met him the day before he...He was on enemy grounds, and—”

Luke closes his eyes. “One of our planes dropped a bomb on the town. The explosion took my hand and—and my father.”

Luke can’t meet Din’s eyes—what he can see of them from the sunglasses, anyways. He’s the first person Luke’s told about this aside from Leia, Han, and Dr. Yoda. Luke hadn’t even told Wedge, his then boyfriend and now close friend, because it made him too queasy to even _consider_ sharing that memory to anyone. Why would he burden anyone with the haunting screams of his father, telling Luke to go go _go!_ Why would any want want to know how small Anakin had looked, sitting at his small table, lit only by the even smaller window above him, gripping a photo of Old Ben until it creased down the centre?

The lump is gone, though. And so is a weight Luke didn’t even know he carried for those long eight years, hiding the truth behind his hand and his uncharacteristic timidness to the world. Someone knows now, and Luke’s okay with telling him.

Then Luke remembers Din Djarin sent Boba Fett, famed mercenary, to pick up his own child. He laughs at the absurdity of trusting such an oxymoron of a man, then realizing laughing out of nowhere is not a sane thing to do.

“Sorry, just...” Luke dares to glance fleetingly at Din. “I haven’t shared this in a while.”

“No, I...” Din drops his head. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Luke’s heard it a thousand times, but hearing it from Din’s hoarse voice, Luke finally understands the sentiment behind those words. “Thank you.”

Din clears his throat. Luke takes the same moment to exhale, doing his best to relax his body from the tension currently gripping it.

“You’re a veteran?” Din asks, voice gruff.

Luke nods. “Air Force.”

Din nods. “Thank you for your service.” There’s a sarcastic tone carefully hidden in Din’s delivery; Luke wouldn’t have picked it up if he hadn’t been psychoanalyzing the man every time they meet.

Luke chooses to put up a smile, instead of confronting Din. _As much as I want to. Dear_ God _I want to know what the fuck goes on behind those sunglasses, in that pretty head of his._

Grogu runs up to Din, bag packed but his coat worn haphazardly. Luke chuckles, kneeling down to fix Grogu’s improperly closed zipper. Once satisfied, Luke stands up, giving Grogu a hearty pat on the shoulder. Grogu smiles his toothy smile—the kid has intriguingly large canines—and tugs on Din’s pant, looking up at his father expectantly.

“We should get going.” Din looks up at Luke. “Thank you for looking after him.”

“Not a problem at all,” Luke replies. “Looking forward to Spanish lesson two, buddy.” Grogu gives him a thumbs up.

Din smiles again, that wonderfully beautiful smile that Luke wants to photograph so he can cherish it forever, and looks at Luke. He stares at Luke for a moment, smile not gone but forgotten, for a reason Luke doesn’t know. It takes another tug from Grogu to break him out of the reverie. Din waves—not in a casual, normal way, but in the most awkward crossover between the Queen of Britain’s wave and a reenactment of a dog shaking out the water from its head—and exits, picking up Grogu as they traverse their way down the hallway.

Luke watches them go, leaning against the doorframe. _He’s a strange man, that one. Strange stares and strange friends._ Luke shakes himself— _“strange man, that one”? I’m not Jane Austen, for fuck’s sake_ —and enters the classroom.

For such a “strange man” and his son, the Djarins know how to save Luke in times of despair. Grogu with his fun Spanish lesson that helped Luke forget his panic attacks momentarily, and Din with his quiet, brick-wall (Luke winces at the wording; he wholeheartedly means this as a compliment) nature that let Luke talk about his trauma to someone outside of his family for the first time. The two didn’t exactly solve every single one of Luke’s problems—no one person can nor should do that—and he still has so many unanswered questions like _what the fuck does Din Djarin do?_

But for the first time in a while, Luke doesn’t mind the unanswered questions too much. Some things just don’t have clear cut answers, like why Luke had a relapse today or how to counter the principal’s order to keep Grogu behind a year, and Luke’s fine with that, because he’s happy. He’s relaxed, he’s elated, he feels free—all thanks to the Djarins.

It’s irrational to think that the Djarins saved Luke like he’s some damsel in distress, but Luke’s been having an irrational day; he’ll allow this to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke needs a nap this time. He got so tired he turned into a poet!
> 
> Yeah so that was a dark turn. I like my contrasts and really think that in our hurt, humans bond the strongest, so I had to write this in. Sorry for everyone who came here for fluffy gays tripping over each other because they are blindly crushing on each other, no escapism this chapter :( (It’s also partly because I felt like shit this week. Fellas, is it normal to let uni applications fuck you over a whole year before they’re due?) 
> 
> Hope you guys liked the cameos! Poor Anakin, Yoda and Ahsoka get to be positive figures for the story and Anakin just ends up getting tortured by me mwahaha! 
> 
> Quick notes on the Spanish (thank you to eleneidapot and adroguegirl on tumblr for the help!)  
> \- “Nosotros somos”: we are  
> \- “Ustedes son”: you (formal, I think plural?) are  
> \- “¿De verdad?”: oh really?
> 
> Thank you guys for reading, I sincerely love all your comments! 
> 
> Oh PS: I did a sketch of Grogu Djarin as he is in this fic on tumblr, go check it out if the green gremlin in the show doesn’t compute with my portrayal of human Grogu here! https://ace-dindjarin.tumblr.com/post/640340316201811968/a-little-human-grogu-painting-to-help-me-visualize (praying link works)


	5. The Suspicion

It’s 4:50 when Din Djarin barges into the classroom, uncharacteristically out of breath. Luke’s seen the man tired, but disheveled is a first. Luke stands up, brushing off carpet lint from his pants. Grogu and Winta watch, sprawled on the carpet. (Omera had told him that Din was going to pick up her child as well.)

“Sorry I’m late,” Din pants, clearing his throat and adjusting his sunglasses.

“ _De nada_.” Luke immediately regrets trying his limited Spanish out on a native speaker. His mind is still fuzzy from his cathartic outburst yesterday. “Grogu’s been continuing our lessons with our awesome new student.” Winta giggles in glee.

Din nods, brows furrowing. _Is he…impressed? Amused? I can’t tell shit with those sunglasses._ “Not bad for two hours and...” He looks up at the clock.

“... _mierda_. Twenty minutes.”

Luke squints, crossing his arms. “What was that thing you said?” He’s pretty sure what it is, but Luke likes being a bitch sometimes. Besides, he figures Din has it coming for being pretty late.

Din stares at Luke. _Shoot, was that overkill?_ Then, he snorts, smiling that preciously genuine smile of his. “You got me.” Luke grins as smugly as possible, then realizes he probably looks like Han—in the worst way possible.

“All joking aside, don’t worry about being late.” Luke turns to the two kids, unfurling his arms to gesture at them. “Grogu and Winta are fantastic company.” Grogu looks up and makes a happy squeak. Winta beams, eyes sparkling.

Luke turns back to Din. “I do need Grogu to be picked up on time tomorrow, though.”

“Sure, I’ll ask Cara if she’s available.” Din shuffles his feet. “What’s the event?”

“Oh, I’m just having dinner with my sister and her husband,” Luke replies. “Leia’s in the military so if I'm even a second late, I’m going to have to say goodbye to my left hand.” Luke wriggles his ungloved hand.

Din leans back, crossing his arms. “Leia, as in Leia Organa?”

“Yeah. We’re twins, but we were separated at birth,” Luke explains, running his hand through his hair. “That’s why I kept my father’s last name but she didn’t.”

Din nods, slowly. “Huh.” His tone is flat.

Luke narrows his eyes. Din doesn’t seem to notice.

Din looks at the clock and sighs. “I best be going. Winta, Grogu?”

The two kids start shoving their crayons into their bags. Grogu has a rather tiny one that suits his small stature, and Winta has a giant backpack covered with a sticker depicting a dart frog— _dendrobates azureus_ according to Luke’s frog phase—that has wheels on the bottom and a retractable suitcase handle at the top. It’s a popular item in the class; Luke doesn’t quite understand kindergarteners’ interest in suitcase backpacks, but it’s definitely endearing to see them clamour over something that seems so mundane.

Luke watches Din escort the two toddlers out the door, listening sincerely to Winta’s insistence that frogs are actually a type of fish. She might actually be right, if Luke remembers correctly about the phylogenetics behind the term “fish”.

Luke’s still irked by Din’s reaction to Leia’s name when he gets back home. He’s somewhat enjoyed a bastardized version of a Youtube recipe of alfredo pasta and is now cleaning up the mess he left in the kitchen.

Din knowing Leia’s name makes sense, since he’s friends with Cara Dune. That doesn’t explain Din’s tone; he’d sounded like he had a particularly bad piece of basil (a taste Luke has recently acquainted himself with; he’d just burnt a few in his effort to try and plate his pasta like the chef in the video). Din clearly knows Leia and he doesn’t like her too much. Given his friend group—Greef Karga, Bo-Katan, Boba Fett—the possibilities that explain that dislike are endless.

Luke’s not really fond of questions with multitudes of answers. (He’d have been a great mathematician, if Luke could ever develop a number sense.)

Maybe Luke could try solving this question like a mathematician. A reasonable, methodical problem solver would eliminate obvious impossibilities. Din wouldn’t be a Starbucks barista, or a flight attendant, nor a family doctor.

Luke exhales, leaning towards the countertop. _Well, this isn’t working._

Narrowing the search field might help. There has to be a military connection. But Fett’s got no military training, despite being a mercenary; perhaps attempting to narrow down the possibilities to a military connection might actually hurt Luke’s data.

“Argh!” Luke yells, shutting off the tap and letting the plate he’s washing clatter into the sink. Maybe a good night’s sleep will clarify things. Luke knows he’s just bullshitting himself, though.

§

True to Din’s word, Cara Dune walks into the classroom on Friday at 3:30 sharp to pick up Grogu Djarin. To Luke’s surprise, Cara walks up to him and starts talking. (She’s never really talked to him, despite both of them becoming rather famous amongst their peers—Luke for his piloting skills and Cara for her hand-to-hand combat.)

“Din says thanks for taking care of Grogu and Winta yesterday. He’s sorry that he was late.”

“It was no problem.” Luke frowns. “Wait, he already apologized yesterday.”

Cara’s eyes widen, and her lips curl into a sly grin. Her eyes twinkle dangerously. “Well, isn’t that interesting?”

She’s chuckling to herself as she walks Grogu out of the classroom. Luke’s not quite sure what all that meant.

§

“Come on, let’s get eating already!” Han pouts, eyeing the takeout fried chicken on the table.

Leia raises her glass of beer. She’s wearing the Pandora necklace that was confiscated from Luke the moment he stepped into her and Han’s nice penthouse. “Toast first. This table is for civilized people, not beastly scoundrels.”

“Stuck-up princess.”

“Slob.”

Luke clears his throat. While he enjoys the two’s banter now, he’ll tire of it quickly over the course of the night. “To good health.”

Han mimes throwing up. “Boring. To the weather cooperating with my squadron’s show flights next summer.”

“Selfish as usual.” Leia softens her insult with a friendly jab to Han’s side. “To my feud with Holdo ending.”

Luke sees Han’s splutter about the hypocrisy of Leia’s toast coming a mile away and decides to pinch it at the bud by clinking his glass against the others’.

They dig in, sharing crispy fried chicken and work anecdotes. It’s mostly Han and Leia telling their stories; Luke’s work life has mostly been unsolvable problems after problems. He could talk about Grogu and Jorge’s excellent art project, but then he’ll need to talk about Grogu being held back a year by the principal. He could talk about his relationships with the other teachers, but Luke’s a bit too reserved for teachers’ lounge gossip. It’s amazing how being in a giant explosion can change a person from the brashest hotshot pilot in the Air Force to a private, quiet kindergartener teacher. Speaking of that explosion, he definitely can’t talk about his mini relapse right now; he’ll tank the mood. So Luke just smiles and listens and laughs when appropriate.

“So.” Leia licks off the grease from her fingertips. “Who’s that crush I’ve been hearing about?”

“First of all,” Luke says, gesturing to Leia’s fingers, “gross. And no, I’m not saying shit.”

Han blows a raspberry. _Not surprised he’s drunk already—Han’s much more of a lightweight that he’d like to admit._ “Buzzkill.”

Luke prods at his drumstick with a fork. “It’s probably some parent-teacher confidentiality violation.”

“Bet that’s bullshit,” Leia replies, sipping her beer. Han clinks her glass in agreement. Luke just rolls his eyes.

“I think I might be able to remember his name.” Han drums his fingers on the table. “It was kinda funny.”

“Yours is literally ‘Han Solo’.”

Leia gasps like an affronted Victorian lady. “Yours is ‘Skywalker’!”

Luke scrunches up his face. “So’s yours!”

Han snaps his fingers. “Don! Don Dijon!” he yells, and Luke swears he’s never heard Han be so confident about something in his life. Luke expresses his displeasure by dropping his head against the table; Luke knows that’ll annoy Leia into slapping his head off her nice chestnut dinner table but he gets dramatic when he’s drunk, damnit!

Leia’s quiet, though.

Luke lifts his head slowly. “What?” he asks.

“I’ve heard that name before,” Leia rasps.

“You got that from Don Dijon?” Han asks dryly, probably trying to alleviate the tension. _He’s worried, still; he’s got that telltale crinkle between his eyebrows._

Leia blinks and rubs her temple. “Ex-CIA. Got fired for...something. Some kind of misconduct charge.”

 _Shit_.

“You’re kidding.” Han laughs, unsure. _Please let Han be right. Please, God, let him be right._

But Leia doesn’t respond.

“Is—” Luke curls his fingers into a fist. “Is his name Din Djarin?”

“Yeah.” Luke can barely hear Leia’s whisper over the rumble of the boiler. “That’s the name.”

He can’t stand the way Leia’s staring at him. Luke hasn’t looked up to check her expression—he’s too scared to—but he can feel her gaze boring into his skull, piercing him with her concern.

“Did you...” Luke swallows. “Did you know him? Did you work with him?”

“No. Just saw the paperwork.” Silence, rustling, then: “Luke, hey—”

“I’m okay.” Luke looks up and sees that face he’s been dreading, as well as a similar look on Han. “I’m just worried for his kid.”

Leia nods and returns to her chicken wing. The worry in her eyes doesn’t go away for the whole dinner. Luke’s sure he’s got that same look in his own eyes.

§

When he’s back home, Luke pulls out his trusty notepad and sits down at his desk. The moonlight’s not enough to illuminate the paper, so he turns on his desk lamp.

His mind is reeling, still. To be fair, it’s only been thirty minutes since the mind-boggling revelation that Din is a _fucking ex-CIA agent._

_Okay. Get your shit together. Remember how Dr. Yoda taught you to organize your mind: pen to paper._

Luke, for the second time in the last few weeks, titles the sheet: Din Djarin.

Underneath, he writes out:

Past Profession: CIA Agent

Current Profession: ???

Cause for Firing: Misdemeanour—of what kind?

Luke stares at the sheet, but he once again can’t find any connections. He rummages through his bag and pulls out his original Din Djarin sheet. It’s a bit crumpled now, so he runs his hands over the sheet in an attempt to flatten it out.

Luke runs his fingers through his hair, then gives himself a little slap in the face. Focus, Luke. He stares down at the two papers, searching for connections.

Note: Friends Boba Fett, Bo-Karan Kryze have criminal background, esp. Fett (kidnapping, mercenary). Perhaps related to his charge of misconduct?

Note: If attorney general of California is friendly with Din Djarin, misdemeanour charge wouldn’t be a serious one.

Note; The two inferences above contradict each other.

Luke barely suppresses the urge to throw the notepad at the wall. He finally gets an answer about Din Djarin, and it does little but complicate Luke’s understanding of the man even more.

Not to mention that the Grogu issue is still unsolved. _Fuck. Now I really want to throw my notepad._

“I’m too drunk for this,” Luke says out loud to himself. He is, definitely; he’s thinking of dumb ideas like calling up Din Djarin and outright asking him what his history is. Which would be a dumb thing for three main reasons: one, it’s real late in the night to be making a call to someone who’s technically his client, two, it would be rude to ask Din, someone Luke regrettably barely knows, to tell an acquaintance his entire life story, and three, Luke’s drunk enough to blurt out “why were you fired from the CIA” the moment Din picks up his phone.

A confrontation when Luke’s less drunk is a good idea, though. Luke’s got enough reason to ask; he is a teacher who’s concerned for the safety of his student. He just needs an excuse to meet the man and enough preparation to make Luke’s inquiry genuine, not creepy.

Right now, he needs sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE SUSPENSSSSSSSEEEEEE
> 
> I’m really sorry that this chapter was so late! School decided to kick my ass the last two weeks as the semester came to a close. I’m excited to announce that the next chapter will be coming up TOMORROW, if all goes to plan! And the last chapter will be up Sunday. I didn’t think it fair to make you guys wait for two weeks for a kinda cliffhanger chapter, especially since you guys have waited so long for this one. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the love! Hope you guys liked the chapter :)


	6. The Dream

“Luke,” a voice whispers. He opens his eyes.

It’s Anakin, sitting by the window of his darkly lit hut. He’s barely lit by the setting sun and a dying candle wick. He holds a piece of paper in his hands, waving it like a mouse a handler might entice their snake to bite. Luke is filled with longing for that paper—he needs it, he’ll die without it, _please, give it to me!_

But when Luke steps forward into the light, Anakin is no longer there. Neither is the window, or the hut itself. The walls have turned from moulding wood panels to stacked brick, and the light flooding through the window is pure Texas sunlight. Luke feels like screaming, ripping his heart out. He was so close, if he could’ve just called out to Anakin before Luke rushed in like an idiot—

 _Luke_. This time, it’s Old Ben Kenobi; Luke can feel it, deep in his heart. He turns around to face the man, only to find him surrounded by tumbleweed and dust. Luke tries to wade through the chaos, but Ben’s perpetually out of reach. All Luke can see is Kenobi’s classic cryptic smile and the crinkled piece of paper in his hands. Luke runs, reaches, grabs, leaps—to no avail. He tries to call out, but the sand spraying into his mouth makes him gag.

By the time the question of why he’s so desperate for a tiny sheet of paper occurs to Luke, he’s awake, in the safety of his bedroom. He’s breathing hard, almost to the point of hyperventilation—he does a few deep breaths to get himself back in control.

_What the fuck?_

Luke has no idea what that dream meant. He usually forgets his dreams within moments of waking up, but this one stubbornly refuses to go away. Why did Luke want that paper so badly? Why did Anakin and Old Ben show up? Why this dream, why now?

Luke sighs, then checks his bedside clock. Four thirty-six am. He considers getting out of bed and starting his day early, but the chill of the air tells him he’s better off staying in the comfort of his sheets.

He looks around the room. The sun hasn’t peeked above the horizon yet, but there’s enough light for him to see the objects in his room with decent clarity. Luke keeps his bedroom tidy, but the toils of the week has left its impact on the room. His laundry basket is overflowing, his freshly laundered socks are on top of the dresser instead of being in the drawers, and his desk is messy from his brainstorming session last night.

The crumpled piece of paper where Luke plotted out Din’s acquaintances is on his desk. Luke stares at it, entranced. It looks exactly like the paper in Anakin and Ben’s hand, in Luke’s dream.

_Shit. SHIT!_

Luke reaches over and grabs his phone, opening his call history and pressing call on Din’s number. _Fuck, of course—Anakin disappearing when I walked in instead of calling out, the wading in the chaos fruitlessly: I wasn’t communicating the way they wanted me to._

“Wh—”

“I figured out how to convince the principal to let Grogu move forward with his peers!” Luke shouts.

Silence on the other side.

Luke looks at his bedside clock again: 4:38 am. _I’m such a fucking idiot._

“Sorry, I got a bit excited,” Luke apologizes, running his hand through his hair. “Probably should have saved this call for a waking hour.”

“No, it’s fine.” Din’s voice is hoarse—reminding Luke once again that calling him at the crack of dawn was a bad idea. Also, _hot_. “I’m usually up at this time.”

“Oh.” Luke blinks. “I pity your sleep schedule.”

Din sighs. “Price of the job, I’m afraid.”

Luke wonders if he should ask Din about his occupation now; it would be a natural transition. Before he can do that, Din continues. “What were you saying before, about Grogu?”

“Right,” Luke says. “So, the principal wants to keep Grogu behind because he, quote unquote, can’t communicate properly. Since forcing Grogu to speak is out of question, we could instead adapt to a language he can communicate.”

“Of course.” There’s rustling on the other side, suggesting that Din’s sitting up. “Something officially recognized, like—”

“Sign language, exactly!” Luke launches himself out of his bed and sits down at his desk, ripping out the Din Djarin’s Occupation (?) page from his notepad and scribbling his ideas down on a new sheet. “Since schools making accommodations is expected, it’ll be hard for the principal to refuse the proposition without sounding like a bigot.”

Din laughs. “Hope you’ll rein in yourself at the proposal meeting.”

Luke groans. “Shit, I’ve got to set that up.” Luke claps his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, no, it’s, uh...it’s fine.” Din clears his throat. “You can leave me a message once the meeting date is set. If that’s not a problem, for you.”

“Of course, sure!” Luke writes himself a reminder in his planner. “Would you like to attend? I can ask if that’s a possibility in my request.”

“Yes, please,” Din replies. “Thank you for the call, Luke.”

There’s a sincerity in his voice that makes Luke want to tear up. _It’s probably just the hangover._ “No worries. Grogu’s my student and I want the best for him.”

“It’s...” Din sighs. “Not often that teachers care so much about their students that they call the parent at five am with strategies to help the student,” Din replies. “It’s really great to see that in you.”

 _Is he...flirting? No, it’s me being an emotional homosexual. It’s a really nice compliment, though. And I don’t think I imagined that tremble in his voice—no, stop it, me. I’m hungover and imagining things._ “Thank you. And sorry, for being that teacher who calls up parents in the early morning. Not very professional, if I do say so myself.”

“I’d better let you go back to sleep,” Din replies. “I’m looking forward to the meeting.”

“Gotcha,” Luke responds. “See you then.”

Luke hangs up, then stares at the phone’s screen for five minutes, reviewing the contents of the call. Significantly less disastrous than it could have been is his overall assessment. Especially given that he’s hungover and really fucking groggy.

He collects his blanket and stumbles into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and downing it. The cold of the water clears his mind.

And reminds him that Luke forgot to ask Din about his job.

 _Fuck_.

§

The sound of the clock ticking echoes through the main office. Luke fidgets in the tiny plastic waiting chair, unnerved by the complete silence of the room. The secretary sits silently, typing away on her computer and filing attendance forms. Luke fiddles through his proposal folder in an attempt to calm his nerves.

He’s not entirely sure why he’s so nervous. It might be that confronting the principal ended up seeming bit more daunting than Luke had expected, but the principal would have a hard time rejecting the proposal for accommodation—he’d worked tirelessly over the weekend constructing a plan that was foolproof. If the principal rejected it, he’d end up looking like a bigot in front of a student’s parent.

Maybe it’s meeting Din again. Luke hasn’t met the man face to face since the day before his dinner with Leia and Han on Friday. It’s Monday now, and Luke still hasn’t wrapped his head around the truth that the tired, gentle father he’s been having a gay crisis over is a dangerous, ex-CIA wild card. He’s worried he’ll say something dumb to Din when he arrives for the meeting.

“Hey.” It’s Din, wearing that goddamn pretty Armani suit again, Grogu trotting along by his side.

 _Am I a wizard?_ “Hey.” Luke adjusts in his chair, looking up at Din. “You’re on time.”

Din tilts his head. “For once.” Luke’s getting better at reading Din; there’s the tiniest crinkle in the corner of his mouth that indicates to Luke that Din’s amused, not confused.

Luke pats the seat next to him. Grogu scrambles onto the chair next to Luke. Din sits in the seat next to Grogu.

Din nods at Luke’s file folder. “Is that the proposal?”

“Yup.” Luke holds it up. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too. Took a lot of negotiating with my employers.”

Before Luke can inquire further into it, the principal emerges from his office. He’s got a frown deeper than the Great Reef Barrier as he gestures to Luke with a beckoning motion.

Luke arranges his folder and stands. He takes a deep breath, then looks at Din. He smiles back at Luke, and for a moment, Luke can see Din’s eyes behind his sunglasses. _You’ll be alright,_ Din seems to communicate.

_Yes, you’re right. We’ll come out of this victorious._

Din looks away, breaking the moment. Luke, fighting to hide his smile, leads the way to the office, holding the door for Din and Grogu.

§

The principal thumbs through the folder. Luke watches his movements, anxious. He sees Din glance at his watch. The principal hasn’t said anything in ten minutes.

“Sorry, Skywalker,” the principal finally says. “I’m going to have to decline.”

Luke blinks. “What?”

“I like the idea, don’t get me wrong.” The principal leans back in his chair. “But we’re a public school. I don’t know where we can get enough funds for an interpreter.”

Luke runs his hand through his hair. _Fuck_. He hadn’t considered funding; he’d banked on the fact that schools are required to accommodate students, and therefore would have a savings account of sorts reserved for support services. As dumb as it is, keeping Grogu behind a year is indeed an example of an accommodation, a cheap one at that—Luke was just too excited about his plan to remember that fact.

“I know ASL. I can interpret, no cost.”

Luke looks up at Din, shocked. _What the hell? Since when?_

The principal adjusts himself in his seat. “Do you have any substantial qualification?”

“I have a certificate,” Din replies. “I don’t have it on me, but I can send a scan by email once you need it.”

The principal looks at Luke, then Grogu. Luke sits up, hopeful. He can feel his heart in his throat, thumping away.

The principal sighs. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“Seriously?” Luke exclaims. “And Grogu can move on with his peers?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The principal hands back the proposal folder. “Give this to the secretary and he’ll process it.”

“Thank you.” Luke snatches the folder, brimming with excitement. He glances over to Din, who breaks out into a grin at Luke’s expression. Normally, Luke would be worried that he has a really idiotic expression on his face, but he’s too high on endorphins to care.

Luke stands up, collecting his bag and coat and leaves the office, legs shaky.

_Oh my god. We did it._

§

The sun bleeds pink through the clouds, the warmth of the colours contrasting against the chill of the wind. Luke braces himself against a particularly strong gust of wind; he can barely feel the cold, however, because the holy fuck I can’t believe Grogu can move forward with his peers and my plan _worked and Din Djarin smiled at me_ train is keeping him warmer than any shot of vodka ever could.

Grogu’s skipping alongside Din as they traverse through the school parking lot, avoiding the cracks in the black asphalt with careful steps. He’s been giddy since Din explained that Grogu’s not going to have to say goodbye to his classroom friends. _Me too, kid. Me too._

They come to a stop next to Din’s enigma of a car. Luke swears there’s a dent in it that wasn’t there the last time he saw it—but since Luke’s only seen the Honda Civic once, in September, his memory of the car isn’t quite clear.

Din looks at Luke and frowns. “You okay? You’re a bit red.”

“I’m better than okay, actually,” Luke responds, laughing a little. “Which might be why I look like a lunatic.”

Grogu giggles like a caterwauling cat.

Din frowns. “Seems like you’re not the only one.” Luke grins.

Din opens the car door—with a key, not a fob—and helps Grogu up onto his car seat. Once he finishes fumbling with the seat belt, Din stands up and looks to Luke.

“Thank you so much for your help.” Din fiddles with his keys. “Grogu’s lucky to have you as his teacher.”

Luke ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck. “Of course. Anything for my students.”

Din drums his fingers against the hood of the car, silent. Luke watches, unsure of what to make of this silence.

“I’m making some dinner to celebrate.” Din’s not looking at Luke. “Tacos, Grogu’s favourite. As stereotypical as that is.”

“Oh, that sounds nice!” Luke’s not sure where Din’s going with this.

Din looks up at Luke. It’s hard to tell with those aviators, but he looks...unsure. _That’s weird. I’ve never seen him like this._

_Wait. Oh. Oh shit. Ohhhhhh._

Luke stammers, then finds his words. “Yeah, I’m free, tonight. If that’s what you’re asking.”

Din nods, still wearing that bashful look of his. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll text you my address.”

“Sounds great—good. Yup. I’ll go to my car. So I can. You know. Drive there.” Luke winces at his words.

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

They stare at each other for another minute.

“I’m going to go—”

“Yeah, of course.”

 _Move, feet._ Luke drags himself over to his car, barely managing to get to his destination by focusing on making one step after another. Unlock the car, get in the driver’s seat. Get the text on your phone with _Din fucking Djarin’s address, holy fuck—_

Luke forces himself to breathe. Given his freak PTSD relapse, getting himself too riled up might launch him into another panic attack. _In, out. In, out._

 _Ding_.

Luke can’t stop the excited grin from spreading across his face. Because, holy crap, he’s going to have dinner with Din Djarin.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I lied about this update’s release date. Sorry about that...
> 
> One last chapter! This one is coming out Friday, for sure. This one was pure dinluke content—as much as the fic is a dinluke fic, I realized I haven’t written them interacting as much as I would like to (I cringe at myself so much when writing meet-cutes, it’s a battle for me to write this lmao)
> 
> Thank you guys for sticking through all the way, we’re almost finished our journey with these two disaster gays!


	7. The Truth

_One. Two. One. Two._

Luke exhales, trying to clear his mind of a thousand questions regarding Din Djarin’s living situation by focusing on climbing the stairs. Which—by the way—what kind of ex-CIA agent lives in an apartment with noelevator?

_I mean, thinking about my veteran’s pension, it’s pretty reasonable._

Luke glances up at Din, who’s trekking his way up the stairs with Grogu perched on his shoulders. Luke does his best not to look at Din’s ass—not just because he doesn’t want to be a bad representation of his fellow gay men by becoming a creep, but because naturally, being a few steps behind someone on a staircase puts one’s head on eye level with the other’s ass—

_Shit!_

Din looks back at Luke, who’s just tripped from missing a step. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Luke stammers. “Guess I’m still a bit woozy from our win today.”

_Scratch that: I’m woozy from Din asking me out to dinner. But I obviously can’t admit that._

Din tilts his head. “Guess you’ll be happy to know we’re here.”

He leans out of the way, allowing Luke to step onto the fifth floor. Din tugs on Grogu’s leg, and helps him climb down onto the floor. As Din fiddles with his keys— _who the fuck has that many keys on their keychain?_ —Luke stares at the door, wondering what lies behind it. What would an ex-CIA agent’s apartment look like? Five bedrooms, one filled to the brim with illegal weapons and another with a hostage? A tiny one-room the size of a walk-in closet?

Din pushes the door open.

It’s a sweet house, albeit rather undecorated. The walls are a nice beige and the floor is hardwood, which is surprising for an apartment complex with no elevator. There’s a cute mint couch for two set up in the living space, a granite countertop on the kitchen island— _not that I can see much of the granite under the heap of papers_ , and what seems to be a hallway into at least a room and a bathroom. There’s a collection of bookcases lining the walls, filled to the brim with books.

“Not what I expected,” Luke says, hanging up his coat on the coatrack.

Din turns to Luke. “What did you expect?”

_Honestly? Not sure. Definitely not something this normal._

“I think it’s the couch,” Luke responds instead. “Didn’t think mint’s your colour.”

“It’s not.” Din sets his keys down on the countertop, trying to find a place to put them down amongst the mess of papers. “It’s Grogu’s, though. It’s the colour of his favourite cookies.”

Grogu lights up at the mention of the treats. Din looks down apologetically.

“Sorry about the mess,” Din says as he starts trying to clear the countertop. “Marking is making me lose my head.”

_Did he say “marking”?_

“Oh, you’re a teacher, too?” Luke asks. His heart’s thumping in his throat.

Din stacks his papers into a dangerously tall pile. “I’m an English professor at the community college.” He gestures at the pile.

The mountains of papers. The bookshelves. The missing pick-up time. Of course, of course!

“Oh. _Ohhh_.” Luke holds himself back from dropping another _oh_. “That makes sense. Yeah.”

Din stops halfway from pulling out ingredients from the fridge. “What were you expecting?” he asks, quiet.

Luke wonders what to say. The truth? A lie? Why does he sound so hurt?

“Not the best, if I’m going to be honest.” Luke runs his hand through his hair, trying to avoid how Din seems to shrink at that comment. _Fuck him, actually. It’s unfair for him to make my heart shrivel up into a raised with one sad look_.

“Is it—” Din looks down, gripping a frozen pack of tortillas. “I know I talk...strangely.”

 _Shit, wait_ — “No, of course not! God knows I ramble on enough.” Luke laughs—desperately. “It’s Boba Fett. And Bo-Katan Kryze.”

Din relaxes his grip on the tortillas. “Oh.”

Luke gestures to the counter, awkward. “Could I help with anything?”

Din opens his mouth to answer, but Grogu interrupts with a tug on Din’s pants. Din leans down, letting his kid whisper into his ear.

“Yeah, could you help Grogu with the TV?” Din asks. “His favourite tv show had its finale today and I put in on record.”

“Sure,” Luke says. “I’ll come back to help you with the vegetables.”

Din nods, and turns to the sink. Grogu comes running to the TV, sitting down in the mint couch with legs neatly crossed. Luke smiles as he notices Grogu vibrating with excitement.

Picking up the remote, Luke sits down on the couch next to Grogu. “Excited about the finale, or about school? One-and-two.”

Grogu makes a one with his left hand and makes a two with his right.

Luke laughs, and turns on the show. “Enjoy, then!”

He returns to the kitchen, smiling at the way Grogu leans forward as the theme song plays. Luke’s still dumbfounded. Din Djarin, ex-CIA, loving single father, his current romantic fixation, is a _college English professor_. Which explains the absences at pickup, the difficulties he faced in coming to the meeting with the principal on time, and the tweed jacket and the suit. But how exactly does an ex-CIA agent go from toppling foreign governments to analyzing _1984_ with college students? And why did Din look so sad when Luke questioned his integrity?

_Ah. Putting it that way makes sense._

“Are the vegetables all washed?” Luke asks Din.

He nods. “Could you mix the sauce? Everything you need is in those bowls.”

“Gotcha,” Luke answers. The bowls are hand painted with reds and yellows. There’s an adorable giraffe pattern along the edge of the mayo bowl. Luke wonders if this is Grogu’s handiwork, but it’s just a bit too neat for that. _Did Din make these?_

Before Luke can ask, Din cuts in. “How do you know Fett and Kryze?”

Luke pours the ingredients into the mixing bowl. “Remember how I told you that my sister’s a general in the army?”

“Yeah,” Din replies, stir-frying some ground beef from the stove.

“Because of her position, there were—still is, actually—a lot of people trying to influence her. So some government lackey hired Fett to...” Luke pauses from mixing, searching for his words. “Kidnap her husband.”

Din stops pouring the cooked beef onto the ingredients dish. “Oh.”

Luke nods, turning back to the sauce. “Yep. And I’ve seen Kryze in some...confidential documents when I visited my sister’s. Probably shouldn’t have even seen them.”

Din sighs. “I understand why you were suspicious of me. Sorry for getting defensive.”

“No need to apologize; it was unfair of me to think you’re slightly shady.” Luke peers at the sauce—it’s a nice lilac pink. “How did you get to know Fett and Kryze?”

Luke passes the bowl to Din, who pours a bit on the taco he’s making. “It’s complicated.”

“I bet,” Luke replies. Din pointedly focuses on finishing his taco. Luke considers pushing the conversation, but decides to let it be.

He stands, unsure of what to do. There’s something about kitchens—they’re such personal spaces. It’s easy for someone to feel out of place here. Especially since it’s the kitchen of Luke’s current crush, who’s just asked him out to a dinner celebrating the Defeat of the Evil Principal. Oh, and this crush is an ex-CIA English professor with connections stretching from ex-mercenaries to current Attorney Generals.

_How was I so naïve to think that knowing his current job would be enough for me to understand Din Djarin?_

_No one’s got all the answers, darling_ , a voice responds in his head. It’s a gentle, crooning female voice that Luke doesn’t recognize, but calms him like only the warm embrace of his mother could.

Luke joins Din, making the third taco. “The CIA thing explains the sunglasses,” he starts. “Used to think it was a fashion statement. Like my shoes.”

“I got used to it,” Din replies. “Life is easier when I don’t have to make eye contact with people.”

“Oh, _word_.” Luke wants to raise his hand for a high five, but he realizes it’s probably a bad idea to high-five someone when he’s got sauce all over his hand.

“What’s your story behind the boots?” Din asks, pulling out serving plates.

“Nothing, really.” Luke gestures wildly, holding a bunch of thinly sliced carrots in his hand. “Just like them. Guilty of perpetrating gay stereotypes! Ha...” _God, really?_ Luke focuses on making sure his cheeks don’t bloom a tomato red. _Note to self: no more jokes. Like, ever._

Din’s quiet. “You’re gay?”

Luke’s not sure how to take that. He’s 99% sure Din’s gay, but the sheer shock in Din’s delivery of the question is a bit reminiscent of meeting straight people who are accepting of gay people but have never actually met a real gay person in their life.

“Do you have a problem with that?” _Shit. Too aggressive._

Before Luke can make an addendum to soften his words, Din backtracks. “No, no. Of course not. Just didn’t expect it.” He coughs and shifts his posture, looking profoundly uncomfortable in his own kitchen—and it’s the cutest thing Luke’s seen in quite a while.

Luke leans against the counter, filled with an urge to tease Din.“I’ve been reliably told I’m the gayest man in the county.”

Din begins clearing the counter, wiping down the rogue pieces of carrot and spinach with a wet cloth. “My, uh, ‘gaydar’s’ broken then. My students might be right that I’m the worst queer man they’ve met.”

Luke laughs. “I see where your students are coming from. Where’s your cups, by the way?”

“Top right cabinet.” Din rinses the cloth in the sink. “You don’t seem surprised that I’m queer.”

“I guess I knew already,” Luke carefully takes out three glasses. “ _My_ gaydar’s pretty top notch.”

Din shuffles, crossing his arms. “Care to share your method? So I can improve.”

“Well,” Luke says, running his hand through his hair, “the whole single dad thing, that’s pretty gay.”

Din barks out a laugh. Spurred on by his response, Luke continues. “The sunglasses, that’s gay hint number 2. And, uh— _heh_ —you know how you kinda stand like...” Luke juts his hip out to the front and to the side, taking care to curve his shoulders forward a little.

The man Luke’s making an impression of doubles over in laughter, leaning too far forward that he chokes on his own voice. Luke rushes to fill one of the glasses he’s holding with tap water and hands it to Din, who raises a hand in apology as he chugs down the water. Luke laughs too, because goddamn, Din’s laugh is so fucking contagious. It lights him up, turning all his stress-wrinkles into happy crinkles and relieving him of a weight on his shoulders.

_Shit, I’m so head over heels over this guy._

“Sorry.” Din refills his glass with water. “That was too good.”

Luke grins, tilting his head. “Maybe I should be a stand-up comedian.”

“Let’s not go that far.”

“Luke Skywalker: A Netflix Stand-Up Comedy Special.”

“That’s too far.” Din’s lip twitches up, lightening his tone.

Luke smiles, wading in his happiness. He looks up at Din, who’s fucking ridiculous sunglasses won’t let Luke see the certainly beautiful eyes behind them. He’d caught a glimpse of them today, right before the meeting with the principal. Earnest, honest, kind.

He’s seeing them again now. Not through the darkness of the lenses, but straight at them. No more barriers, just pure eye-to-eye contact. _Holy shit. It’s actually happening._

His eyes are really brown.

“Fuck it,” Luke says, and leans in to kiss him. Din’s stricken for a moment, not reciprocating— _shit, did I read the situation wrong?_ Then, Luke feels a calloused hand on his cheek, cupping his jaw. He smiles into the kiss, forgetting everything that’s stressed him for the past few weeks because _holy shit, I’m kissing Din Djarin._ And it’s sweet and gentle, from the way Din pushes back at him to how he holds Luke’s face like he’s about to break into pieces.

It’s perfect. Well, not really; Luke’s lips are definitely chapped and Din’s definitely not kissed many people in his life, but none of that matters because he feels like he’s floating on air.

When they part, Luke can’t hide his smile. Din’s worse, though; his eyes are crinkling and there’s some kind of hiccuping noise from his throat that he’s trying to stifle. Luke raises an eyebrow.

“This is why I wear my sunglasses,” Din squeaks out. Luke laughs, dropping his head onto Din’s chest. He just wants to stay in this moment forever, standing together and basking like a turtle in the sunlight of each other. _What the actual fuck, Skywalker?_

“The tacos are going to get cold,” Luke mumbles, even though he doesn’t want to go back to reality. “And Grogu’s show’s ending soon, probably.”

Din sighs, much to Luke’s amusement. “Grogu, dinner’s ready,” Din calls.

Luke giggles— _what the_ fuck—and takes his seat at the table.

§

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Din says. He’s standing against the frame of the front door, looking out into the hallway where Luke stands.

“I should be the one thanking you,” Luke replies, running a hand through his hair. “The tacos were great. Also the...you know.”

Din’s wearing the sunglasses again, but it can’t hide his smile. “Yeah, that was great.” He wrings his hands, then sighs.

“Look, I was wondering if you were up to...possibly continue this.”

Luke blinks, then smirks. “‘This’ being...”

Din’s glare strikes Luke through the dark lenses. Luke laughs. He’s about to say yes, _of course I’m interested_ when everything comes crashing back down on him. Din’s reluctance to talk about Fett and Kryze. Din’s past as an ex-CIA agent. There’s too much murkiness for Luke’s comfort. Questions torture Luke, as seen in his reaction to all the Grogu drama the past two weeks. He’s had a PTSD-induced panic attack for the first time in years because of how badly he handles stress; he needs to be sure of everything before he enters into a big change in his life.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to. And—this isn’t me saying no. But I have a lot of...” Luke searches for the right words. “Baggage. And that means I’m careful about big changes in my life.”

Din nods. “I understand.” There’s a disappointment in his voice and a tension in his shoulders—one Luke hasn’t intended to create.

“I’m not saying no.” Luke really wants to sit down. “I just have some questions, that I hope you’ll be okay with answering.”

Din’s entire body seems to exhale in relief. “Of course.”

Luke clasps his hands together. He’s not sure how he wants to phrase his questions, or which to ask without being ridiculously overbearing. So he starts with the biggest one.

“I mentioned you to Leia—my sister—and she recognized you as an ex-CIA agent.” Luke watches for Din’s reaction carefully. “Could you explain that, a little?”

Din’s quiet for a few moments. Luke feels a nervous lump in his throat.

“It’s a long story.” Din takes off his glasses. “You might want to come back in for this.”

The lump melts away. “Thank you.”

They take a seat on the couch, sitting knee-against-knee. Din hands Luke a bottle of beer, which he graciously accepts. He’s shaking far too much, and the alcohol might help soothe that. Din looks down at the coffee table in front, fidgeting as he gathers his words.

“Your sister’s right,” Din begins. “I was a CIA agent for nine years. That time showed me that I don’t care for the CIA. I’m not pleased that there is a government-funded intelligence organization who sabotages foreign governments and societies for American benefit.”

“Preach,” Luke quips. Din chuckles, releasing some of the tension in the room.

“I was planning to quit when I came across Grogu in a mission in Chile.” Din’s voice softens at the mention of his son. “It’s how I met Fett, actually. Grogu’s parents were activists and Fett was hired by an opposition force to kidnap Grogu as leverage.”

Luke looks up, alarmed. “And instead he shot up the place?”

“No, no, that wasn’t on him.” Din runs his temples. “CIA got tipped off that there were dangerous, armed terrorists. Realized that was bullshit when I found Fett, so I rushed in.

“I was too late. Grogu was terrified, alone, and cried at anyone who came near him—except me,” Din recounts, voice hoarse. “I knew I had to get him here, to the US, and take care of him.”

The pieces click together in Luke’s head.“Is Grogu undocumented?” Luke asks, tamping down the worry in his voice.If that were true, Luke massively fucked up by mentioning Din to Leia. Not that she would deport Grogu, but still.

“No,” Din replies, to Luke’s immense relief, “but I had to pull a lot of strings to make that a reality.” Din stops here, closing his eyes. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s a sight too familiar, once Luke’s seen himself in far too often.

 _Fuck it,_ Luke thinks for the second time today, and reaches out to grasp Din’s hand. “You don’t have to answer everything today,” Luke whispers.

Din looks at Luke with those bright brown eyes of his. “No, I’d—I’d like to.”

Luke nods and smiles. “Okay.”

Din takes a swig of beer and wrings his hands. He exhales, then begins once again. “I—I realized that I could use these connections to help unfairly detained immigrants, like I helped Grogu. I could get them asylum status.” Din glances at Luke. “I didn’t do anything illegal. Just...a lot of loopholes. I kept everything secret and stayed in the CIA to monitor everything.”

“I’m guessing your superiors found out about your operations,” Luke says, swirling his bottle and staring into the brown vessel.

“They found out about what I did to get Grogu here,” Din corrects, “but not anything else. It was enough to piss them off, though, and they fired me.”

“Oh,” Luke says, because there’s nothing else to say. “Was it a complicated process?”

“No, thankfully.” Din looks at Luke, a twinkle in his eyes. “I hated them and they were tired of my bullshit.”

Luke laughs, revelling in how Din seems to light up at his reaction,

“I still do what I did, when I was in the CIA,” Din confesses. “Which is why I was reluctant to tell you.”

Din looks so bashful—and it’s the cutest thing Luke’s seen since his own students. “Yeah, of course.” Luke smiles, grasping Din’s hand again. He smiles back at him.

“And—I promise I’ll keep your secret.” Luke squeezes Din’s hand, finding comfort in the small gesture. “Nothing to Leia.”

“Thank you.” Din meets Luke’s gaze. “Sorry about putting you in this situation.”

Luke chuckles, leaning back against the couch. “Sorry about making you get real with me on a first date. This is more of a seventh-or-tenth date thing. Real talk with the lights off at night, beer bottles on the table.”

“Vivid description,” Din jokes. “You could be an English major.”

Luke laughs. “I am _not_ going back to school, even for a very hot professor.”

Din goes red, to Luke’s immense amusement. “W—wh,” Din stammers, then clears his throat. “That sounds like an ethical nightmare.”

 _Shit_. Luke drops his head against the backrest, looking up against the popcorn ceiling. “Fuck, _this_ is going to be an ethical nightmare.”

“What is?”

“Me, dating the parent of a child. Ugh, I’m going to get accused of favouritism.”

“It’s kindergarten.”

“Yeah, it’s probably not going to be a big deal. I’ll have another teacher double-check my marking. Not that I have much of it to do.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Din raises his bottle, and Luke clinks it with his own. “Any other questions you have for me?”

“I was actually going to ask about Fett, but you addressed that already,” Luke replies. “Why don’t you ask me one, actually? As payback or...I don’t know. Consequence?”

“No idea.”

“You’re the English prof,” Luke retorts, raising his bottle to take a sip of beer.

“True.” Din toys with the rim of his sunglasses, which are lying on the coffee table. “Do you always vet your dates?”

Luke almost spits out his beer. “Jesus, Din!”

“I didn’t mean—” Din laughs, the sound a bit slurred from the beer. His eyes crinkle into the expression; _he’s so expressive without those darned sunglasses_. “I understand wanting trust in a partner. But you have to admit it’s not exactly a standard question.”

“Okay, fair, fair.” Luke smiles, placing the bottle back onto the table. He’s not sure how to answer the question. He’s going to be honest, but he doesn’t know how to explain his actions. _How do I tell him the reason behind my questioning when I don’t even know what it is?_ “No, I don’t.”

Din raises an eyebrow. “Was I that suspicious?”

“To be _fair_ , seeing the attorney general pick up your child on a Friday and the gun for hire who kidnapped my sister’s husband drop that child off on the Monday is a hell of a shock.”

“ _Fair, fair,_ ” Din teases, shit-eating grin on his face.

Luke elbows Din’s side. “Rude.”

They share a chuckle. Luke takes a sip of his beer and stares out the scuffed veranda doors. The pimpled half-moon stares back down at him with a raw honesty. And sitting there, watching the moon and drinking beer on a first date that seems like a seventh date with the cryptic man he’s been crushing on for the past weeks, an answer unlocks in Luke’s mind.

He huffs, amazed it took him so long to get here. “I haven’t been with anyone since...my recovery.”

“Oh.” Din’s tone is inscrutable.

“Sorry to get personal again—”

“Hey, I’m the one who asked.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Luke runs his hand through his hair, the familiar action soothing his nerves more effectively than the alcohol. “I had a partner through my recovery. And it wasn’t a new partnership when—when I lost my hand. He was my childhood friend, and we flew together in the Air Force, and I was so sure that I would—I _could_ rely on him for support through the recovery process.”

Luke’s aware it’s a bad idea to talk to Din, a potential new partner, about the longest and most heartbreaking relationship in his life, especially on a first date. But Din’s shared something incredibly personal because of Luke—he owes him this much, at least.

Din seems to understand that, thankfully, if Luke is reading his relaxed posture and concerned gaze right.“What happened?” he asks, quiet.

“It was a long three years.” Luke closes his eyes, struggling to squeeze out the words. “He stayed for most of that time. He studied up on PTSD, encouraged me to get up when I wouldn’t get out of bed for days on end, and did his best to support me. But...he left, despite everything.”

Luke’s not sure if the alcohol is making him teary or...something else. He prays that’s the truth. “And—I don’t blame him.” Luke nods, staring down at his bottle of beer, sitting serenely on the coffee table. “It’s torture, dealing with PTSD. He did everything he could. He had to put his mental health first. But—fuck, sorry.” He drops his head into his hands

“You don’t have to answer everything today.” Din rests his hand on Luke’s knee, earnest.

Luke laughs. “Got me back, huh?”

Din shrugs, a small smile creeping up on him.

“Okay, I’m—I’m good.” Luke exhales.

“I was really hurt. Looking back at it, I was irrational. He did everything he could. But that doesn’t change the fact that—he hurt me, you know? So I guess that’s why I’m so cautious. Because that explosion flipped everything in my life.”

Din takes a long chug of beer, then leans back. “Shit.”

Luke snorts, the guttural sound fading into a seal laugh. Din chuckles back at him.

“Is that the best you can do?” Luke laughs, reaching for the bottle of beer. “I open up to you about my deepest insecurity and all you can say is ‘shit’?”

“I’m shit with words,” Din reminds him.

“And you’re an English professor.” Luke leans his head back. “A true enigma of a person.”

“I don’t know if you’re applying that metaphor right,” Din retorts. “Since I did open up to you about my secret operation.”

“Fair.” Luke’s eyelids are heavy. “Shit, I can’t drive home.”

“You could stay the night,” Din proposes.

Luke raises an eyebrow, letting his mouth curl up into a smirk. Din blinks, as if he didn’t expect those words to come out of his mouth. “I’m not _suggesting_ anything—”

“Are you going to pull the ‘only one bed’ trick?”

“No!” Din blinks in confusion. “Do people actually do that?”

“I’ve heard stories,” Luke replies. “Although they’re usually from Reddit.”

“Very trustworthy sources,” Din sasses. “And I was just offering you my couch.”

Luke can’t stop a grin from creeping up his face. “Thanks, so much.”

Din grins back, cheeks a bashful pink. Or maybe it’s the alcohol making his face so red. Or maybe it’s Luke’s own drunkenness making him see things.

Din pats Luke’s knee and stands up. “I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow.”

“Thank you, Din,” Luke says, the words coming out much more loaded than he had anticipated it to. _For helping me face my trauma. For trusting me with a sacred secret. For liking me back._

“You’re welcome,” Din replies, the words as loaded as Luke’s.

He goes to sleep on the slightly uncomfortable mint couch, snuggled in brown blankets and a disturbingly lumpy pillow, smiling uncontrollably. Everything about this situation is outside of Luke’s comfort zone, from staying over at a partner’s home on a first date to trying to sleep on Din’s tiny couch and paper-thin blankets—and yet, Luke hasn’t felt as happy as he does today in a long while.

Everything is okay. Some things are better than okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I wrote this, all ready to post—then I realized that the chapter didn’t live up to the hype of the past six. So I did some research and watched some romances to get myself some more knowledge of the field (and by that I mean I watched Jane the Virgin) and did my best to fix the over-exposition issue. I’m very sorry that it’s so late, but I’m much happier with this chapter now than I did around three weeks ago.
> 
> The bowls mentioned earlier are by Omera, by the way. Some background on her and Din’s relationship is going to be in the epilogue. 
> 
> The voice Luke heard is Padme’s; I like to imagine he hears her in times of crisis. 
> 
> Luke’s partner I’m referring to is Wedge Antilles. Absolutely love his character, by the way. 
> 
> Now for the fun update: there’s going to be a chapter 8! It’s more a 7+1 situation with Din’s perspective on the events of the story. Hope it’s a fun little epilogue to this story!
> 
> I’ll add all my thank yous in the notes of the epilogue.


End file.
